


A Year and A Day

by demon_rum



Category: Eagle of the Ninth Series - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_rum/pseuds/demon_rum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca and Marcus handfast; a ceremony in 4 parts</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Year and A Day

Part 1: Nerves

Esca lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling and listening to Stephanos snore. He hadn't slept five minutes. When he was still a slave he'd loved this time of night and enjoyed the rare sensation of being left alone to his own thoughts. But during the past two weeks, he'd been in physical contact with Marcus nearly every hour—curling up together at night, wedged onto their horse during the day, pausing every few hours to scramble off the horse, sneak behind the nearest bush and pull off each other's clothes—and now his hands kept reaching over to touch what wasn't there.

Their journey wasn't quite done yet; tomorrow they would continue on to Londinium and return the eagle to Claudius Marcellus. They had only stopped to borrow fresh horses, reassure Marcus' uncle that they hadn't actually died up north, and take a bath. Three baths later plus the first clean clothes either had worn in months and Uncle Aquila decided they were finally scrubbed enough to be in the same room as him. They didn't complain; Sassticca kept the wine flowing and the warm water turned out to be useful for all sorts of things neither could manage on horseback.

Uncle took the news that Marcus had freed Esca surprisingly well, considering Esca wasn't technically Marcus' to free at all, but he did ask them to act like master and slave until they left for Londinium. It kept Stephanos from complaining nonstop about young people and their ideas. They were fairly certain Uncle Aquila had figured them out immediately. And so, after pretending to wait on his master at dinner and assisting him to bed (bed! What a marvellous idea, and so much easier on the back) Esca found himself, for the last time, staring up at the ceiling of the slave quarters and totally unable to sleep.

It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that he was getting married in the morning.

He tried to picture what things might be like after tomorrow, after they returned the eagle. Teasing a loan out of Uncle Aquila, buying a little land, raising a roundhouse tall enough so Marcus wouldn't bang his head on the roof, figuring out what crops grew best in this part of Britain, hunting for extra meat, laughing off the inevitable failed harvests (“that's fine, Esca, I didn't really want to spent the entire winter eating beans, not in a hut this small”), starting with a single mare and breaking the foal come spring...

Or maybe Marcus would get his army commission back. He could request a posting somewhere other than Britain and Esca would follow him as part of his household, discreetly, play the loyal freedman who stayed with his patron, washing the dishes and grooming the horses and trying to ignore the fact that Marcus spent his days teaching Roman soldiers how to kill non-Romans...

No. Definitely not.

Stay in Britain then. British custom didn't care about them, not nearly as much as Roman custom might, and they didn't want to hide. But what would they feel about each other in a year? Five years? Would they get bored and start looking at other men? What if Marcus decided it was a mistake when he said he wanted to be with Esca, form their own tribe of two, join their lives together? They'd known each other for more than a year, but only been lovers for a few weeks.

Maybe they were rushing things.

He could end up driving Marcus away with his stubbornness and anger and worrying.

Marcus' leg could get worse, and Esca would have to support them both.

Marcus could go bald.

Esca tossed his blankets around angrily, stood, stretched, lay down again, rolled over, curled his legs under, straightened them out, gave up and stared at the ceiling. No use. He wondered if Marcus was still awake and thinking about him. Probably not. Marcus slept like the dead.

 

 

Part 2: The Big Day

Riding on straight Roman roads with fresh horses and clean clothes seemed like a priceless luxury after such a long journey up north. Without Seal People chasing them they could linger over the breakfast Sassticca had packed and without rogue warriors waiting to hang them upside-down from trees they could even nap afterwards, so Esca dozed off in a warm patch of spring sunlight. When he woke Marcus was leaning on a nearby tree, weaving strands of ivy into plaits.

“What are you doing that for?”

Marcus looked confused. “For the ceremony. Remember?”

“Oh, right.” He frowned and patted the satchel on his hip. Just checking.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just didn't sleep that well last night, I guess.”

“Stephanos' snoring keep you awake? Just like old times.”

Esca smiled a little at this, made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and glanced away. Marcus set down the ivy and gave him a steady look.

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course I'm not. There's nothing to be nervous about. We decided all this together and we talked it through. We're agreed. Right?”

“Last I checked... You ready to keep moving, then?”

“Let's go.”

They rode on, Marcus watching the road and weaving while Esca scanned the surrounding landscape for streams. He fiddled a little with the satchel as he looked. They both wanted this; it wasn't something he'd pushed for while Marcus just nodded along. Personal, simple, British and Roman: they'd discussed it already. None of it was necessary, of course; somehow that made things more important, not less.

There. Half a mile off the road, a copse of young black poplars. He gave a low whistle and Marcus held up. Esca gestured to the trees. “That might do. Want to check it out?”

“Absolutely.”

The spot was nearly perfect: far enough off the road that they wouldn't be interrupted, it had trees, a stream, and a clearing cut in half by a small log they could sit on afterwards. While Marcus tethered the horses and gathered twigs for kindling Esca carved a circle in the tiny patch of grass by the stream bank, just wide enough for them both to stand in comfortably. That done, he took the flint from his satchel and nursed a small fire into existance in the center of the circle. Marcus rumaged through his saddlebags for the phials of flour and oil. Once the flames burned on their own Esca dusted off his hands on his braccae and produced his own phial of salt and a long strip of cloth that had once been the edge of a native blanket. It still showed faint swirls and knots on one end.

They glanced around, taking a quick inventory, and then Marcus went back to the horses and fished through a bag until he waved an oat-cake in the air with a sheepish smile.

“That's everything now. Ready?” Esca nodded and Marcus stepped into the circle. It felt surreal for a moment as they shifted from planning to doing and he had to draw a steadying breath. Marcus must have noticed him hesitate because he smiled and held out his hand. Esca looked at him, his friend, standing there with a smile and an outstretched hand, and he stopped being nervous. He took Marcus' hand and stepped forward.

Marcus set an ivy wreath on Esca's head and another on his own; Marcus' turned out to be slightly too big and it kept slipping down over one ear. They looked at each other for a moment and shrugged, trying not to laugh. He switched the wreaths, muttering something about how not everyone had ears that stuck straight out. Another pause, and then they clasped hands over the small fire. Esca spoke first.

“Marcus Flavius Aquila, I choose to be with you, to love, respect and be honest with you. I promise to accept you as you are, sick or well, and to share my separate life with you for a year and a day. And this is a symbol of my promise.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flint and the salt. “Fire for our hearth and salt for our food.”

Marcus accepted them with both hands, scattered a pinch of salt on the ground, tucked them away, and took Esca's hand again. “Esca MacCunoval, I also choose to be with you, to love you and respect you and be honest with you. I will accept you for who you are, when you are sick and when you are well, and will share my separate life with you, for a year and a day. These symbolize that promise.” His hand trembled a little as he drew out his phials. “This is flour for our bread and oil for the threshold of our house.” Esca took one in either hand, kissed each phial and touched both to his forehead before pocketing them.

He pulled out the length of blanket and wrapped the cloth around their clasped right hands again and again until the hands were completely covered. There was a long moment of silence. Then Marcus squeezed their bound fingers so hard it hurt and whispered, a little shakily, “where you are Esca, I am Marcus.” Esca glared fiercely at the fire, blinking and waiting until his voice didn't hesitate. “Where you are Marcus, I am Esca.” They both sighed with relief, smiling a little at each other, and Marcus handed him the oat cake. He chewed a few bites and handed it back. Marcus ate a few bites more and them crumpled the rest over the flames.

Now neither could stop beaming. Esca realized, belatedly, that they hadn't discussed how to finish the ceremony, so he pulled Marcus down for a kiss. That worked well.

 

 

Part 3: The After-Party

“So how do Romans celebrate after a wedding?”

Marcus smirked a mischievous sort of smirk that he had obviously copied from his freedman. “I think every wedding everywhere finishes up about the same way.” He tried to give Esca a naughty look while shifting his hips suggestively against the log they were sitting on. Esca rolled his eyes and swallowed a mouthful of wine.

“Before that.”

“Oh. Exactly what we're doing right now. Eat nuts and honey cakes, share some wine, tell obscene jokes to try and make the bride blush.”

“Neither of us is the bride.”

“Make each other blush, then.”

“You think you can make me blush, Roman? Give it a try.” Bravado mingled with wine in Esca's words.

“Mmm. A challenge.” Marcus took another pull from the wine skin. “I want to do something new. Something... virgin-like.”

“We've done practically everything already.”

“No we haven't.” He tipped his head down, wreath sliding off, whispering in Esca's ear. “I want you to take me. Come in me, in my virgin ass. Fuck me.”

Esca set down the wine. “What?”

Marcus' face fell. “You didn't blush.”

“Are you serious? You've never—?”

“Nope. Never. Roman, remember? 'Romans don't give, they take.' So I think it's probably appropriate for a wedding night. Or wedding afternoon, in our case... Why didn't you blush?”

“I'm not blushing because there's nothing to be embarrassed about, except your total lack of experience.” Esca glanced around. “But I don't think we can manage.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Roman, it takes patience. And time.” The wine was running very low now.

“I'm patient and we have time.”

“Well, it also takes olive oil and we didn't bring any. You'll hate it and never want to do it again.”

“Damn it.” Marcus tilted the wine skin up to the sky. “This might be the only time I have the nerve.”

“You'd want to, though, really?”

“I'd like to try. It seems fair... too bad we don't have oil.” He kicked at the remains of the fire.

Esca brightened. “Wait—yes we do! Here.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out the little phial of oil Marcus had given him.

Marcus looked horrified, shook his head emphatically. “No. We cannot possibly use that.”

“Why not?”

“It's sacrilege!”

“It's symbolic.”

“It's sacred oil. What is that a symbol of?”

Esca grinned like a fox who has just stumbled over a nest of goslings. “It's for the threshold, you said. Rub it over the entrance to your new home.”

A pause, and then Marcus flushed beet red. “I don't—even—I can't—believe you just said that. That is _filthy_. You have a terrible, filthy mind. And congratulations, I'm blushing.”

“So am I, apparently.” Esca rubbed his cheeks, which had gone all warm.

“Never say that again. Promise me. _Never_.”

“Absolutely. On my honor.” Esca was almost doubled over with laughing. Marcus tipped the wine skin upside down, disconsolate, and watched the last drops fall onto the grass.

“Fuck. I can never go to another wedding now. You have ruined them forever. The groom will hand the bride oil and flour, and everyone else will cry, and I'll just think—fuck.”

“So it's perfect, then.”

 

 

Part 4: First Times

Marcus was far too tall to lie comfortably in the tiny patch of grass, and resting on his elbows and knees put too much strain on his bad leg. So Esca draped a blanket over the log and bent Marcus over on top of it. It was supportive of his leg but not terribly dignified, with braccae down around his thighs and tunic pushed halfway up his ribs, hands splayed on the ground in front of him; from Esca's point of view, sitting and straddling the log, one hand on Marcus' ass and the other on the small of his back, the situation could not be finer.

From there he watched Marcus fighting with all the feelings of dishonor that he had learned as a Roman; Esca's left hand rubbed his back, soothing muscles tense with shame and running up and down his spine, trying to reassure him that there was no disgrace in this. He could also see Marcus fighting with desire, his cock already swelling, and so Esca's right hand palmed his cheeks, squeezing and stroking them, dipping fingers down in between just to tease, occasionally dropping low to brush against his balls. He continued, smiling a little at his own growing erection, until Marcus began to shift his hips and arch up into Esca's hand.

Esca dribbled olive oil between his cheeks, sliding fingers slowly from his tailbone to his balls and back, gently probing his hole as they ran past. He struggled to wrap his mind around just how beautiful Marcus looked, hips in the air and legs spread apart, exposed and trembling slightly; Esca had never gotten a response like this before, never touched someone who simply gave himself over to his hands. He could not fathom how he was so fortunate as to be allowed to do this. It made him hard and also unexpectedly emotional. Then Marcus made a stifled noise and he paused, uncertain.

“How am I doing?”

Marcus moaned a little.

“I want to put a finger in you, then.”

Marcus immediately froze, pulling away. Esca bent closely over him, applying more oil, moving carefully and slowly and concentrating over his task as if he was repairing a delicate piece of harness. Marcus gradually began to relax under his hands and Esca shivered at the joy of it. He whispered, not quite trusting his voice.

“There's no shame between us, Marcus, no shame in this, and I'll never do it without your permission. Can I?” Marcus took a deep breath and nodded, and Esca pushed in. He paused, waiting as the muscles tensed around him, then began to work his finger back and forth, pressing gently down. He wanted Marcus to feel the difference between what he was used to and this; less sharp and immediate, something deeper and more visceral. Esca continued asking and waiting and pressing until he had three fingers inside, slowly opening Marcus up.

Trying to get at his own erection with only one free hand distracted him enough that, by the time he finally managed to unlace his braccae and shove them down, Marcus had started rocking slowly back and forth on his fingers. As soon as Esca touched himself heat and tension started pooling at the bottom of his stomach. Not long.

He let go of his own erection and lightly stroked Marcus, who groaned and arched up. “Marcus, I think it's time. I want to fuck you.”

Marcus gasped a little. “Do it.” Esca slid out his fingers and repositioned himself behind Marcus' hips. The last of the olive oil dripped out onto his shaft and he ran the head of his cock over Marcus' hole, pressing gently. Marcus took him in, hestitating and tensing but never stopping, trusting him to go slowly. Esca tried to stay still, giving him time to adjust to the fullness, touching him softly to keep him hard. When Marcus gradually began to push into his palm Esca tightened his grip into a fist, bit his lip and tried to concentrate on the trees, the stream, the grass, anything but his arousal. He wanted to give Marcus as much time to enjoy this as he could manage.

Marcus soon forgot his shame and everything else except his need. He started to come, struggling and thrusting into Esca's fist, pushing up off the log and clenching his ass around Esca's erection. Esca leaned forward and clung to his waist, allowing Marcus to pull his own climax out of him. He gasped and shook as he came, overwhelmed by what was happening. As Marcus went limp under him he withdrew and turned away, hunching his shoulders and rubbing an arm over his eyes, trying to calm the heaving in his chest. His ears were ringing.

He didn't deserve this.

"That was... you're good. We should do that more,” Marcus panted out, easing gingerly onto the grass next to him. “You alright?”

“Fine. No problem.”

“Uh huh.” Marcus put an arm around his shoulders. He had grass stains on his hands. They sat for a minute, letting their breathing return to normal. “I don't believe you at all.”

“It's a bit personal.”

“Seriously, Esca?” he laughed, “I stick my ass in the air and let you put your fingers in it, but what you've got to say is too _personal_?”

Esca winced. “Do all soldiers talk like you do?”

“Sure— _now_ I embarrass you.” Marcus tugged on his ear. “Come on. Are you alright?”

He flailed around for the words. “I'm just not used to someone trusting me like you do. It's easy for me to love you—it's hard to accept it in return. That's all.”

“Something new for you?”

He nodded. “Completely. It's... I feel so—vulnerable, maybe?”

Marcus snorted. “Once again, what were you just doing to me?” He stood cautiously, hitching up his braccae. “You're just going to have to get used to it. Patience and time and so on. I don't think olive oil will help.” Esca took his hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. “Let's take it easy with the riding this afternoon. And pull your pants up—you look obscene.”

Esca swung lightly onto his horse and waited while Marcus lowered himself into the saddle, making a face as he did. “I think I regret letting you do that.”

“No you don't.”

They headed on to Londinium.


End file.
